


Barlights

by literaryvengeance (evocativecomma)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Fluff, Four pages of pointless, Guest starring my horrific tags., Hey look this is a thing I wrote for the E/R/É fest on tumblr., Marius and Cosette are in it for like...ten seconds., Multi, Or some approximation of one because I'm the worst action-writer ever., There's a barfight., UNABASHED FLUFFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocativecomma/pseuds/literaryvengeance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt:<br/>No, I’d really love an Eponine totally kicking tail at a bar fight or something and totally catching Grantaire and Enjolras off guard.</p>
<p>Written for the E/R/É Shipping Festival on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barlights

**Author's Note:**

> Some mentions of blood, because what kind of fic would it be if R wasn’t getting punched in the face? Also, you know, something that vaguely resembles a barfight, spurred on by mentions of harassment.

“Get your hands off!”

The voice was definitely Éponine’s, and Grantaire instinctively looked over to the bar where she’d disappeared a few minutes ago, arm in arm with Cosette. Enjolras stayed focused on his smartphone, some political blog or other, given his incessant mutterings every few seconds; it was likely he hadn’t even heard the growing commotion, but Grantaire grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him out of the booth. Marius was god-knew-where at the moment, but perhaps it was a blessing that he wasn’t going to get involved.

Enjolras pocketed his phone, brow furrowed as he tried to put together why Grantaire was pulling him very insistently towards the bar. It didn’t take long, because there was Éponine, arms crossed over her chest, standing defiantly in front of two guys at least twice her size with Cosette just behind her. The way the men were looking at her made the hair stand up on the back of Enjolras’ neck, and he put a hand against Grantaire’s arm to stop him from barreling in without thinking.

“We just wanted to buy you and your friend a drink, cutie. What’s the big deal?”

Cosette’s eyes blazed, and she pulled herself up to her full height. “It started being a big deal after we told you we  _weren’t interested,_  and when you decided to put your hands on my friend here. Back off!”

Grantaire pulled out of Enjolras’ grasp and pushed his way forward, standing between the girls and the increasingly aggressive strangers. “Surely we can put this matter to rest, gentlemen. The ladies clearly aren’t interested.”

As it turned out, the matter was not to be put to rest so easily—the next moment, a very solid fist met with Grantaire’s nose, and he found himself becoming very well acquainted with floor. Enjolras was at his shoulder then, pulling him up into a sitting position, both of them with their eyes fixed on the conflict.

After that, though, it was over surprisingly quickly. The man made another move toward Grantaire, but Éponine was faster: she stamped her foot into his instep, jamming her first two knuckles into the soft spot above his elbow. When he bent over, weak for a moment with the pain, she gripped his wrist with her right hand, twisting his arm until he stayed bent; her left hand pressed into his shoulder to keep him still, and his face ended up smashed against the bar.

The stranger’s friend stepped back, staring in something like fear and awe; Enjolras and Grantaire had similar expressions, though Grantaire was also holding the sleeve of his hoodie up to his bloody nose. Cosette looked proud—and yes, here came Marius, finally, throwing an arm around her waist and trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

Éponine grinned a little bit, putting far more pressure than was necessary on the man’s shoulder. “Now,” she said, “I think you owe my friend and me an apology, don’t you think?”

He bared his teeth at her and gave a choked laugh. “Sorry,” he spat.

Éponine twisted his arm sharply, causing him to groan. “If you’re not going to act like a human being, I can show you what happens when I  _forget to be nice._ ” Grantaire gave a muffled laugh behind his sleeve, and even Enjolras was smiling a little bit.

“Fine! It was a dick move! I’m fucking sorry, all right?!”

Éponine shrugged, seemed to decide pushing it further wasn’t worth it. She let go of him and stepped back, smiling visciously. “You’re pretty lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” she said. “And that assholes like you really aren’t worth my time.”

The two men vanished somewhere—attention was on Éponine, so no one paid much mind to where, though it was commonly assumed they edge out the door.

Cosette pulled the smaller girl into a massive hug, giggling a little bit. “That was awesome, ‘Ponine!” Marius was still clinging to his girlfriend’s side protectively, waiting for someone to tell him what he’d missed—Cosette kept shushing him as things unfolded. He gave Éponine an impressed smile, though, and an awkwardly affectionate punch to the shoulder when she pulled away from the blonde.

“We’re going to go now, I think,” Cosette said. “Tonight was a little more than any of us bargained for.”

Éponine nodded and waved them away, saying, “We won’t be far behind you,” as she kneeled down beside Enjolras and Grantaire.

The couple left and the two men smiled at the woman in front of them.

Enjolras waved his phone in front of her, displaying a timer. “He’s had his nose held for about five minutes now, ten to go. Good thing this idiot’s a mouth-breather, at any rate.”

Grantaire’s voice was trapped in his throat, high and reedy from where he’d pinched his nose shut. “Fuck you.”

Éponine smiled sweetly down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately, which only made him groan. “I’d say not in public, but I think that ship has sailed. But you  _are_  covered in blood.”

“Yes,” he said as his companions each took one of his elbows and pulled him to his feet. “God forbid I try to defend your honor, ‘Ponine, and get injured in battle.”

They all laughed at that, maneuvering awkwardly out the door and into the slight chill of the night; Grantaire had an arm around Éponine’s waist, other hand still holding his nose, and Enjolras and Éponine held hands behind his back.

“Something tells me that our Éponine didn’t need you to do any defending, R,” Enjolras said thoughtfully.

Éponine flushed slightly, but she wasn’t sure whether it was from the curious shade of pride in his voice or the words.  _Our Éponine._

Grantaire nodded. “Not that that in there wasn’t fucking awesome, but where’d you learn how to do that?”

She ducked her head. “I… Bahorel taught me. I guess it’s been about a year. It seemed like a good idea, once I stopped dating Montparnasse and everything.”

Instantly, she could feel the change in her men. Everything about Grantaire went rigid, and he stumbled as they walked along. Enjolras’ jaw went tight. “I thought we’d agreed to not mention him.”

Éponine wrinkled her nose indignantly. “You asked!”

He nodded stiffly, gritting his teeth. “I know. That was unfair of me. You know that I feel…very strongly about the subject.”

She nodded and let out a breath through her nose, snorting just a little bit. “You think _you two_  ‘feel strongly’ about it?” She laughed. “I know you do. But you know he never hurt me or anything, either. His friends were unpredictable, though, and it seemed like a good idea to learn at least a little bit. And it did me some good tonight, didn’t it?”

Enjolras grinned despite himself, and Grantaire nodded fervently. “You were pretty badass.”

The subject was dropped somewhat comfortably, left behind as the alarm on Enjolras’ phone went off and he dug in his pocket to cut off the chipper beeping. “Fifteen minutes are up, Rambo.”

Grantaire let go of his nose, sniffed hopefully. “Sore,” he declared, “but not bleeding any more. Kiss it better, Apollo darling? ‘Ponine?”

Both of them rolled their eyes at him, and he poked his elbow into Enjolras’ ribs before slinging the arm around his shoulders. “You are all terrible to me. Look at me, practically dying in your arms and you won’t do a thing.”

“Yep, we’re the worst.” Éponine hummed an agreement as they stopped in front of their building, leaning across Grantaire to plant a teasing kiss on Enjolras’ mouth; he kissed back, and Grantaire groaned, pushing them apart so that he could untangle himself from their arms and key in the code for the door.

They followed him inside, trudging up the stairs past the broken elevator that had been broken since they moved in months ago. Enjolras took Éponine’s hand back in his; she recognized his most protective gestures, the way he leaned into her shoulder and squeezed her fingers more tightly than was necessary. Grantaire walked a few steps ahead, digging his keys out of his pockets, casting glances back at the both of them every few seconds.

The three of them tumbled into the apartment minutes later, trailing into the small bathroom so that Grantaire could wash his face; Éponine pushed him to sit on the edge of the bathtub and dug a washcloth from the cabinet while Enjolras hovered in the doorway, watching them both softly, attentively.

Grantaire winced when she first pressed the soaked cloth to his nose, giving off a high whine more fitted to a lost puppy than someone who’d started something like a barfight barely half an hour ago.

“You are such a baby,” Éponine scoffed, rolling her eyes—but she lightened her touches somewhat, smiling and pressing a kiss to his forehead. It took a few minutes, but eventually his face was clean and he was grinning up at her with a tired shine in his eyes.

In a line they filed back out of the bathroom, Grantaire stripping off his hoodie and his shirt and throwing them aside; Enjolras winced as they landed somewhere that was decidedly  _not_  the laundry hamper, but closed his eyes and sighed, letting them lay where they were. Everything could be dealt with in the morning.

Tonight, though—tonight he had two fierce lovers to look after, two fighters who refused to back down from anything, be it a barfight or what they were going to have for breakfast or what movie they were going to watch with dinner.

They lay in bed together, Éponine in the middle—she always said it was because the two of them stole blankets like they weren’t walking space heaters, but she murmured in her sleep about being safe and warm and both men heard—legs tangled together and arms wrapped around each other. Grantaire pressed kisses against Éponine’s shoulder and Enjolras reached across to trace aimless circles on Grantaire’s hip.

“My nose hurts,” Grantaire mumbled.

Éponine turned to press a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, and he hummed with pleasure. “Thank you for your misguided attempt to defend my honor. I love you, even if you are a mouth-breather.”

Enjolras brushed her hair back from her forehead, and Éponine yawned gently, tongue curling like a cat’s. “I love you,” she said, kissing just below his collarbone, “even if you were reading Politico while I was getting into a barfight.”

He and Grantaire exchanged glances over her head as she drifted to sleep, and the words passed between them, even if they didn’t speak.

They woke even closer than they’d fallen asleep, Éponine murmuring about being safe, and warm, and happy.


End file.
